Quiet Ones
by Cy.ra.no.Lee
Summary: They're always the ones. In which Gaara runs from murder, and Lee becomes it's puppet. Yakuza!Story.


I posted this a few years ago, and then took it down because I thought it was trash.

Also because I didn't have definite ending. Anyway

 ** _Warnings:_** _Volatile language, character deaths, violence, gore, plain viciousness_

* * *

There was a crippling silence of about ten seconds; under which one could tell which half of the crowd couldn't believe it, and which half was awed to silence. In this silence, Carribean ocean eyes scanned the crowd once- only that- in warning. Then the eyes spat on the man lying face down in his own rapidly pooling and cooling blood.

The crowd broke out into a roar- of rage, of discomfort, of discontent, but most of all, of love.

 _This_ was what they had come to see- blood and savagery. Primal desire of the heart put into raw energy and spent on countless hours of beating someone to death- or near death. The participants didn't always have to die, but there had to be blood.

And Akaoni, true to his name, gave them what they wanted. He was a 'Red Demon'- hot and unparalleled. The image people thought of when they thought of death or hell was this man- boy, some thought- right here. The one not even bothering to stay and let the announcer call him out as the winner. He knew who'd won.

Akaoni- also known as _Sabaku no Akuma_ by those who thought themselves worthy enough to say his name without certain death- had come to win or die. He wasn't like the other players in this game. Akaoni needed both of those things so badly that he was only going to go down for good if they killed him. And since no one had succeeded in doing that yet, he had walked away with tens of thousands of dollars, time and again.

And do no one would ever succeed. Akaoni knew that the crowd knew that this was going to be his last fight. He was retiring, so to speak. He had made enough of what he needed, and he wasn't going to come back. A spark of amusement had passed through him shortly before the fight. He had heard through his now almost non-existent connections that they had set the fight up with one of the strongest, most mentally ill opponents they could. They really had wanted his last fight to be his last.

Akaoni didn't stand for that. He thought these rich men were forgetting their senses in their splendor. He was not the most mentally stable either, although he wouldn't say he was crazy. Akaoni had a thirst for blood; for death. The man who had attacked him had quailed at his inability to feel pain. Although now, as he collected his thirty grand, he could feel the sting of his ribs and a sprained wrist and bruised knuckles. It gave him satisfaction.

To know that he had come to the arena tonight with no intention of dying, and no intention of losing and had gotten away with a pocket full of cash was enough for him. To know that he had finally reached his goal of living a life of solitude and perfection was enough for him. He stepped out into the night air and took a deep breath.

A smirk of sick, bloody pleasure passed over his face for only a moment before it- and he- was gone again.

 _ **~oOo~**_

She checked the red head with slow precision. She knew what was wrong with him, but everything else seemed to be in temperate condition. They were as good as they could be, what with this boy's bones showing through his skin. They might have been showing through his shirt too, with the way they poked out. The only things keeping him from looking too much like dead skin on a skeleton were his muscles, much too defined and well bruised for her liking. She made him remove his shirt, and shook her head.

Most of the cases she got in her clinic were because of anorexia, bulimia, and any other mentally stemmed disorders she could think of. Although she didn't necessarily specialize with mental disorders, she knew what she had been doing when she had opened her clinic to a specific range of Sabaku no Gaara was a different one. Unlike most of his other patients, he followed her instructions to the nines. He answered all of her questions to the best of his ability with blunt, almost monosyllabic answers.

"Grain and starch to start off. A small bowl of rice, or just one piece of toast, three times a day for the first week. Build it up every week. Light at first, fruit and vegetables after that, then try yourself out with proteins- nuts and eggs, and then meats."

Gaara nodded, took the prescription, barely thanked her, and headed out on his crutches. Her eyes followed him.

To the nines.

Something was wrong with that boy.

 _ **~oOo~**_

The surprised look Lee gave him melted quickly into an admiring smile.

"You look well, my friend," he said, and Gaara could tell he was straining to keep his voice down. The red head appreciated the effort. Lee wasn't one to talk much, not even to strike up conversation, but when he did, he didn't have too much control over his volume level. This was a struggle for both of them. That was probably why they were tentative friends. Although, Gaara couldn't help but wonder about how they had become friends at all. He was not sure how their first fight had turned into friendship. He wasn't complaining. Lee gave him something to think about or rather listen to when his head was too empty.

"You look like you have been eating more," Lee continued, glancing at Gaara again before turning his attention back to his book and pear, "Even the bruise you are sporting today does not take away from your looks."

Gaara stared at Lee. And stared. Lee glanced up again, stared back, his face reading enchanted, before a light blush stole over his tanned cheeks, and he cleared his throat. Idly, Gaara thought he looked like a peach. Ripe.

Delicious.

"I just meant that you look like you have become healthier all of a sudden," he said into the cover of his book, glancing at Gaara again. The red head nodded.

"I moved out."

Lee's thick eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he glanced at Gaara again. Just once, the red head wanted Lee to look at him. He understood, however, why he didn't. They're first fight had come from Lee staring at him. Gaara didn't like being looked at for too long. Hell, it wasn't any different with Lee... most of the time.

"Congratulations! I hope the future brightens up for you further from here on," Lee replied, smiling into his book and taking another bite of his pear. Gaara continued to stare at him until he finally began to piece together what was bothering him about Lee that day. Gaara wasn't an idiot- but when it came to emotions, he was slow. Probably severely. But he could get it with time.

"You're bothered," he stated, and Lee looked up at him in surprise. A guilty smile spread across his face.

"Oh no, I am-" Gaara shot his friend a look that could whither the petals of even the strongest budding flowers. Lee's smile crinkled into a thin line of discomfort. He lowered his eyes to the table.

"My cousin has been badgering me about my appearance lately. Telling me I should get my eyebrows waxed, get a piercing, or at least get a haircut. She says I need to look like all the other young adults my age. But I like the way I look, and will not change it," Lee said decisively, turning back to the words in his book with a nod. A pinch of anger passed through Gaara's mind at having been successfully rejected from the conversation, but he shoved it away.

He gave Lee's hombre green and orange jeans a once over, and snorted. Lee flinched and looked at him in disgruntled confusion as he said, "What?"

"Someone has got to like it," Gaara said offhandedly, and Lee's eyes grew larger than they already were, "You should take your cousin's advice."

Lee stared at him again for a few moments, and his face turning pinker by the second before he turned back to his book. Gaara didn't know whether to feel amusement or annoyance. His body settled for a mixture of the two.

"Fuck you," Lee said quietly after several more moments, and Gaara realized he was looking into the face of Lee's anger. He didn't think he'd ever seen if before- not even when they'd fought the first time. It looked a lot like confusion on other people, since Lee's straight face was... intense. Lee's brows were pressed downward, and his mouth was a flat line. They sat there for a minute in the stifling silence before softly closed his book and reinserted it into his pack. He bit through the core of his pear, threw away the ends, and left. He did not spare Gaara another glance.

 _ **~oOo~**_

Lee poked at his tender lip once more and winced. It hadn't even bled, which he was surprised at, because it hurt as badly as if he had been punched in the mouth. Okay, that was an exaggeration. But it _had_ hurt enough for him to be wary of anything harder than jello. The swelling had gone down considerably from the day before, but the pieces of metal still seemed to shine out at him like blinkers. A constant reminder that he had given into his cousin's constant pressuring. He groaned and let his eyes travel over his wavy forelock- now parted to the side with the ends barely covering half of one of his eyebrows. He pushed it back off his forehead, but realized that the wave in it made it bump and curve into his looked like a high powered business man wannabe. He groaned again.

He didn't know how he was supposed to show himself to his father. Not that he thought the older man would mind, but it would be a shock to see his only, always consistent son go through such a major change. Lee was still shocked with himself. He hadn't noticed how _big_ his eyes were. Or how little his nose was. And, he wasn't trying to toot his own horn, and maybe it was some left over swelling, but his lips looked a little... fuller than he previously surmised. Not necessarily thick, but- well... Lee had been staring at himself practically from the second he'd gotten home. He had been thinking about himself for a long time- the new clothes Tenten had forced on him from everywhere between H&M and the thrift shop, the piercings, the new haircut.

Honestly, he wasn't sure _what_ to think about the way he looked now, and it disconcerted him. He had been searching and searching, even in his sleep, for a reason why he had gone through with his cousin's plan. She had said that this was what he _should_ look like. Lee had never been one to worry too much about his appearance. He knew he looked like his father, and that was really enough to content him. He was aware, however, that his appearance helped people judge him. He had just never cared about the way they judged him. If they wanted to become friends with him, they would have, despite his appearances.

However... Now that he was looking in the mirror, there was something putting him off about this. Something that was unsettling him. Maybe, when he got his father's opinion, everything would make sense. He touched his eyebrows and sighed in relief. He didn't think he could continue to feel dignified if he'd let the women mess with his eyebrows too. He didn't know if his father would recognize him if he had. He didn't know if he'd recognize himself. He sighed.

Regardless of whether or not he liked the look, he was going to have to show his face to his dad. He was coming home that evening. Lee glanced at the clock on dresser near his bed and let out another sigh. He had a few hours before his father got home. He could ply the man with a nice dinner, although somehow Lee didn't think he'd be too made about what he had done. He'd always been open about Lee making his own choices. Still. It wouldn't hurt to eat dinner together. Especially if Lee was the one who was cooking that evening.

Lee left his room for the kitchen, prepared to do his worst.


End file.
